


"Good Morning" is an oxymoron

by flipmeforward (vinterdrog)



Series: 'til Kingdom Come [4]
Category: Glee
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-31
Updated: 2012-07-31
Packaged: 2017-11-11 03:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinterdrog/pseuds/flipmeforward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian doesn't do mornings... or maybe he does <i>some</i> mornings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Good Morning" is an oxymoron

Sebastian doesn’t do mornings.

He actually, genuinely,  _hates_  mornings.

His mother gave up on trying to get him to talk before school when he was seven, and it took Kurt about two months of living together to do the same.

It took Kurt one morning of  _waking up_  together to change his alarm signal into something that didn’t make Sebastian kneel his thighs. Now, Sebastian wakes up to either the guitar of  _Til Kingdom Come_ , like the last eight years, but more often to the piano of  _Comptine d’Un Autre Été, l’après-midi_. If Kurt sometimes happens to set another alarm and not change the tone, he has bruises on his legs for days afterwards. Sebastian’s reaction to Apple-issued standard alarm signals is, quite literally, knee-jerking.

Honestly, things only got marginally better when Kurt moved in. Six months into the arrangement, Sebastian still regularly forgot that Kurt lived with him and startled when he stumbled into the kitchen to find someone else already there (four years later, it happens, like, once a year). Sure, he loves having Kurt there, and he loves falling asleep with him, but he doesn’t make the pain that is mornings much better. He starts work earlier than Sebastian, for one, and has a longer morning routine, so he’s always out of bed when Sebastian wakes up. Kurt had tried waking Sebastian up with sex a couple of times, but yeah,  _no_ , he quit that when he realized that even if Sebastian  _woke up_ , it didn’t mean that he was  _awake_. Now, on weekdays, he just shuts his alarm off as quick as possible, tries to jostle the bed as little as possible when he gets up, and makes his way through the bedroom as quietly as possible, before finally getting out in the kitchen to start the coffee. When Sebastian stumbles into the kitchen an hour later, there’s always a steaming cup of coffee waiting for him on the counter and  _that_  is the  _one_  thing about mornings that has gotten better since Kurt moved in. He doesn’t need to prepare the coffee maker the night before, he doesn’t need to come home after work to find that he put the milk in the pantry, he doesn’t need to smash any more cups against the shelf because he’s incapable of lifting his hand high enough. The coffee is  _just there_ , already done.

“I love you,” is Sebastian’s standard phrase at this time. It’s usually also his  _only_  phrase, and sometimes Kurt doesn’t know if it’s aimed at him or the coffee, but during weekday mornings with Sebastian, he takes what he can get. It’s quite relaxing, now that he’s used to it, to do their morning routines in silence. Well, sometimes Kurt talks anyway, but he doesn’t expect Sebastian to answer or even listen. If he has something important to say, he sends Sebastian an email with it when he gets to work.

By the time Sebastian gets to work, he’s usually capable of talking to people without glaring at them, but he never schedules a meeting before lunch if he can avoid it.

Weekends are… better. On a scale of one to ten, where one is a four-course dinner with his homophobic grandparents and ten is marathon sex with Kurt, weekend mornings still falls somewhere between a three (kissing girls) and a four (changing tires), but it’s better than the two and a half that weekdays get (two being having to wear chafing dress shoes for two straight days because he didn’t bring a spare pair).

They sleep in, but Kurt always get up before Sebastian anyway, because he’s an early riser. If Sebastian could, he would be a non-riser. As it is, he usually wakes up when Kurt bustles around the bedroom, not making an effort to be silent on Saturdays and Sundays.

“Hi babe,” he says when Sebastian squints at him under heavy eyelids, because ‘good morning’ is not a phrase one utters in the proximity of Sebastian Smythe. “You getting up?”

“Mngh,” is Sebastian’s reply.

“Good, ‘cause I’m making pancakes,” Kurt says brightly, taking care to be out of Sebastian’s reach so he doesn’t get the smile smacked off of his face.

Sebastian knows he has half an hour before he needs to make his way out in the kitchen. Kurt lets him be on the weekdays, but he wants the weekend mornings. Sebastian figures that the 5/2 deal is pretty fair, so he tries. He stretches on the bed, burrows his head in the pillow, breathes in the scent of Kurt. There’s a dull ache in his hips, because  _fuck_  did they have good sex last night. He stretches out all the way down to his toes and fingertips, and then he slumps down again.

Kurt’s birthday is in a week. His twenty-seventh. Sebastian will follow him over that line two months later. He rolls over onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. There’s a velvet box in the bottom drawer in his desk at his office (the only drawer with a  _lock_ , thank you very much). He has no doubts whatsoever that Kurt will say yes, but he still hasn’t managed to figure out the implications Kurt will read into it.

Sebastian loves their life as it is now. He loves their apartment, he loves his job, he knows Kurt loves  _his_  job. They have nice friends, they go on dates, they have lots and lots of sex and they have a white carpet in the living room. But they’re (almost) twenty-seven, and Sebastian knows that if they marry, other questions will follow. Maybe from Kurt, but definitely from others. House. Kids.

They have a white carpet in the living room and Sebastian has no desire at all to make the office slash guest room into a nursery. He doesn’t want sticky fingerprints all over the furniture, doesn’t want to deal with adoption agencies and college funding.

It’s not something they’ve talked about, him and Kurt. Kids. Even with more and more of their friends settling down, they haven’t breached the subject between them once. Sebastian thinks of what will happen if Kurt says he wants kids. Their life as they know it will be over. They will be woken up by a crying kid climbing into their bed every night, and Sebastian will refuse to take mornings, leaving Kurt to deal with them, which will make Kurt grumpy and annoyed and they will yell at each other all the time and they won’t have sex and suddenly Sebastian is bright awake.

He sits up in the bed and pulls on his pajama pants before walking out into the kitchen. Kurt is sitting on one chair, his feet up on another in front of him, coffee cup in hand and the iPad balancing delicately on his thighs.

“Promise me we won’t have kids,” Sebastian blurts out. He winces as soon as he’s said it. Maybe not  _that_ awake, after all. Kurt glances up at him.

“I promise we won’t have kids?” he says dutifully, frowning at his boyfriend. Sebastian reaches for a coffee cup and fills it, fetches the milk from the fridge and pours until the cup is filled to the brim. He takes a sip, trying to clear his head to make more sense. Kurt is not waiting, though. He puts the iPad on the table.

“Sebastian,” he says warily. “What’s the matter?”

“Do you want kids?” Sebastian asks. It might be a little late, and a bit unfair, to ask this now when he’s already made his own point on the matter pretty clear, but he has to ask. Kurt stares back at him.

“Why the hell would I want kids?” he asks, incredulous. Sebastian slumps against the counter in relief.

“Thank god,” he mutters into his coffee. Kurt is still staring at him, he is not following.

“How did you… no, forget it, I don’t even want to know how you came to think about it,” Kurt says dismissively, grabbing the iPad again.

“Good, ‘cause I’m not telling you,” Sebastian counters, crossing the floor to sit down opposite of Kurt. They’re both silent for a while, until Sebastian realizes that he’s hungry.

“Weren’t you gonna make pancakes?” he asks, because Kurt said he would, and Sebastian can’t make pancakes to save his own life. He’s decent at cooking, but not pancakes. And he wants pancakes.  _Kurt’s_ pancakes.

“Mmm,” Kurt replies, not removing his eyes from the screen. Sebastian frowns. Kurt is never that engrossed in the news.

“What are you doing?” he asks, leaning over the table to watch. Kurt pulls the screen towards him so he can’t see. “Kurt? What are you doing?” Kurt petulantly doesn’t reply, just keeps swiping his fingers over the screen. Sebastian gets up and walks around the table until he’s standing beside Kurt.

“You’re playing Angry Birds,” Sebastian states, looking down at the screen. Kurt waves him off.

“Shush, I’m gonna break my high score,” he hisses.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sebastian says dryly. “I’ll just go back to bed then. Wake me when you’re done.” He’s not mad, and he knows that Kurt knows that, but he is mildly annoyed at the way Kurt drags him up and then plays a game instead of talking to him.

He gets halfway to the bedroom before Kurt is behind him, grabbing his wrist, turning him around.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of Saturday morning breakfast that easily,” he says and wraps his arms around Sebastian’s naked waist. He kisses Sebastian’s jaw, and Sebastian tries to glare at Kurt for using his soft spot but, well, it’s his  _soft spot_.

“You promised me pancakes,” he says, angling his head so that Kurt is kissing his mouth instead.

“Mm,” Kurt mumbles against his lips. “Didn’t expect you to get up and yell about kids this early, though. Usually have to wait another twenty minutes for you to show your stupid face. That’s plenty of time to make pancakes.”

“My face is not stupid,” Sebastian says, pouting. Kurt kisses him to make it go away.

“It is,” he insists. “But I still love it. Come on,” he tugs at Sebastian’s hand. “You can help me, for once.”

Sebastian tries, he really does, but he still ends up burning the first pancake, and Kurt makes him sit down at the table instead. They eat, and it’s delicious, and they talk. About everything and nothing and all the things they’re too tired or too stressed to deal with during the weeks. Sebastian keeps nudging Kurt’s shin playfully under the table until Kurt tires and kicks him back, hard.

“Stop or I won’t blow you,” he says sternly. Sebastian stops immediately.

When Kurt is putting their plates in the sink, Sebastian comes up behind him and curls his arms around his waist. Sebastian is still half-naked, and Kurt is dressed in a worn t-shirt and pajama pants. It’s noon, the sun is shining in through the window, and both of them are warm and content. Sebastian slides his hand in under the hem of Kurt’s shirt, splays it across his stomach and buries his nose in the nape of his neck.

“You want to go back to bed?” he asks, kissing the soft skin above the collar, smiling at the goosebumps that break out.

Kurt turns the tap off without even finishing rinsing the plates and turns in Sebastian’s arms.

“Yes,” he answers and wraps his arms around Sebastian’s neck, dripping water across his bare back and pulling him in to kiss him. It’s soft and slow and sweet, it’s coffee and sunshine and pancakes, and Sebastian would be throwing up at the domesticity of it if he wasn’t a part of it.

“I love you,” he whispers against Kurt’s lips, feels Kurt’s responding smile.

“I love you too.”

Maybe Sebastian does  _some_  mornings.


End file.
